


The adventures of Sammy and his slightly murdery demon brother!

by millygal



Series: Only Slightly Murdery [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Demon Dean Winchester, Feelings Having Demon Dean (Not too many lol), M/M, Perversion, Strong Sassy Sammy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 10:51:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11988291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: Playing house with a Demon isn't exactly easy, but it sure has it's perks!





	The adventures of Sammy and his slightly murdery demon brother!

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Twisted Bro-Romance Sam/Demon!Dean feels, plus some serious Demon!Dean moments of utter bastardness. Sam having to take on certain personality traits in order to keep a check on said Demon Brother!
> 
> This one is all toratio's fault (THANK YOU BB!) for posting this drabble for spn_bigpretzel's DEW and we were discussing the whole, D!D and Sammy in the Bunker just carrying on as normal, as normal as can be, lol. She said, and I quote - I would love to see the adventures of Sammy and his slightly murdery demon brother! - Challenge accepted, my friend, challenge accepted ;) Hope you like it. It totally didn't end up the way it was meant to, there's actual bloody feels in it O.o LOL! Thank you ever so much miss jj1564 for the beta. You are AWESOME! ♥

The sound of a struggle drags Sam from his already fitful slumbering, tossing and turning interrupted by a loud crash and muffled voices filtering up from below.

Despite the fog clouding his mind and the ringing in his ears from lack of restful sleep, Sam shoots upright and jumps from the bed, storming in the general direction of Dean’s booming laughter. “What now?!”

The scene Sam walks in on is both frustrating as hell and disturbing as fuck.

Castiel sits, devoid of trench coat and tie, white shirt drenched in crimson streaks, filthy rag stuffed into his scowling mouth, tied tightly to a chair which is wobbling precariously every time he tries and fails to free himself from the ropes tethering him in place.

Dean, eyes the colour of oil floating in water, stands behind the Angel with the Kurdish Demon killing knife in one hand, and a half eaten burger dripping with grease and cheese in the other. “Hey, Bro. Sleep well?”

Taking one long slow breath, sucking in as much air as his olfactory senses can stand with the stench of over cooked hamburger and fried cheese permeating it, Sam rolls his eyes at his brother and ducks behind Castiel.

Making quick work of the knots securing him, Sam stands away and waits for the Angel to pull the rag from his mouth.

Castiel spits out the cloth, opens his jaw a few times just to check it still works, then rubs his wrists where serious looking rope burns have already developed. “Thank you, Sam.”

Dean flashes Castiel a completely unapologetic grin, takes one pace back and rips another chunk out of the burger now falling apart in his huge paw. He chams the food, making sure to give both Sam and Castiel a perfect view of the meat and cheese rolling around in his wide open mouth, before swallowing and belching, loudly. “Sorry man, you know what it’s like - brother asleep, all dressed up and no one to kill - boredom’s a bitch, right?”

Sam kicks the blood soaked chair out of the way and stands dead center between the Angel and the Demon, already able to sense Castiel’s gathering powers, and trying to forestall world war three, once a-fucking-gain.

Putting his back to Castiel, Sam raises his hands, palm flat and waves them in Dean’s face. “First of all, drop the black eyes or I’ll hose you down in holy water, again. Second, just because you’re _bored_ that doesn’t mean you can go around maiming our friends, got it?”

Dean’s eyes bleed from black to green as he hangs his head in mock shame, and fails to hide the shaking of his shoulders from the silent laughter forcing shudders through his body. “But Sammyyyyyy how am I ‘sposed to entertain myself when you keep leavin’ me alone with nothin’ to hit and no one to gut?”

Sam grinds his teeth and growls before turning away from Dean, who’s clearly never going to grasp the concept that the Angel is not fair game.

Facing Castiel, Sam reaches out a hand and grips his chin, forcing his head left and right, checking the damage his brother inflicted. “Damn, man, I’m sorry. I should’ve learned not to leave him unattended. It’s like playing babysitter to a toddler with a Crack and Jack Daniels habit.”

Castiel winces as Sam runs the pad of his thumb tenderly over the purpling skin surrounding his nose and mouth, but doesn’t pull away. “I still think we should bind his po - _oomph_.”

Where Sam was standing seconds ago, Castiel is now faced with a raging Dean who’s eyes are back to roiling onyx and pointed straight at him. “What was that, feathers?”

From his new seat on the floor, Sam’s too slow to rise and rip Dean away from Castiel and watches, heart in his throat, when Castiel squares his shoulders and tips his chin upwards.

“You, you monster, we need to bind your powers.”

Dean smirks, laughs, shakes his head like he finds Castiel’s words hilarious, and he’s still laughing as he lands the flat of his boot in the Angel’s stomach.

Castiel stumbles but doesn’t fall, simply straightening and regarding the Demon now residing in his best friend, with a sense of disdain. “Is that the best you can do, Dean?”

Dean’s about to launch himself at Castiel when Sam jumps up and wraps both arms around his shoulders, dragging him backwards whilst he spits and hisses and swears bloody murder against the Angel who keeps trying to put him on a leash.

“Let me go, Sammy, I wanna see what his insides taste like.”

Slotting his fingers together and yanking, pulling Dean’s feet from the floor, making him look like a petulant marionette, Sam roars in his brother’s ear. “STOP IT! Stop it! Castiel, go. I got this.”

Castiel ignores Dean who’s growling loudly and still flailing to get free of Sam’s tight embrace, and nods once. “Call if you need me.”, and then he’s gone. Leaving behind a stinging heat burning at the back of both Sam and Dean’s throat.

Now the Angel is out of pounding distance, Sam lets Dean go and watches, half amused, half horrified, as he starts destroying every piece of furniture in his path until he’s tired himself out enough to stop, drag in a breath and start shouting the odds. “Fuckin’ cheeky bastard. Bind my powers, BIND MY POWERS! I’ve got more power in the tip of my dick than he has in his entire flaccid feathery puss filled meat suit.”

Sam rolls his eyes and turns his back on Dean, a sure fire way of getting his brother’s attention, and begins walking slowly away, allowing him time to catch up and start whining in that irritating voice he’s developed since _going over the the dark side_.

“Seriously, Sammy, you wouldn’t let him bind me, would you?”

Sam ignores Dean in favour of trudging towards the kitchen, pulling the fridge door open and popping the cap on an ice cold beer.

“Please, Sam, please don’t let him bind me.”

It’s moments like these, where Dean sounds so childlike and so lost, that Sam knows why he chose to keep him under lock and key instead of destroying him the way he should have done.

Dean didn’t ask to become a Demon and it’s for that reason alone Sam decided not to bury an Angel blade in his back. However, if he continues to insist upon trying to break Castiel, Sam’s going to have to do something drastic.

Sighing loudly, spinning to face Dean and throwing him an unopened beer, Sam tilts his head and raises his eyebrows. “Dean, dude, I get that you have a kill-crush-destroy gene that’s been given a ramp up into slightly fucking murdery, but the only reason you’re still standing here is because _Castiel_ figured out a way to untether you from Crowley. He’s warded this place so Douchely doesn’t know where you are, and he helps keep you in check. KILLING HIM WOULD BE A BAD IDEA!”

Dean’s shoulders sag as the still present but tattered and shredded slither of humanity residing in his soul comes barreling to the fore.

Demon he is, but he knows what Sam says is true, he just can’t seem to get a grip on his more murderous intentions and something about the Angel, possibly the fact he can scent his Grace in the air, drags the primal Demonic urges into the front of his mind.

Dean now understands Ruby’s assertion that she was once human, and she remembers what it felt like, and the pain in her voice as she’d imparted that piece of information.

Filthy, stinking, treacherous bitch she may have been but she wasn’t lying. This shit is hard work.

Feeling genuine shame, shrinking under Sam’s frustrated gaze, Dean bows his head and mumbles. “M’sorry.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“OUCH, no BITING!”

Dean smirks around the cock nestled at the back of his throat and continues to grind his teeth into the flesh twitching against his tongue.

Sam knows he must be completely insane, but one of the things that happened when Dean got himself _evilled up_ was that all his brother’s inhibitions fell away. So, after years of denying the attraction and making sure to avoid all physical contact that wasn’t strictly necessary for patching up gaping wounds or broken bones, Dean suddenly decided to jump Sam, to throw caution to the wind and fuck him until his knees buckled.

They ever manage to get Dean back in soul having order, Sam dreads to think what his reaction to their change in relationship will be, but for now, he’s quite content to risk life and limb by letting a Demon suck his cock.

Rough is fun, especially when the guy you’re being rough with has a twisted sense of pleasure, however, biting him _there_ is a fucking no-no.

The man has the morals of an alley cat, the libido to match, and a thirst for violence like no other creature they’ve encountered, and if Sam doesn’t rein him in on occasion, he’d probably end up chewing his cock off and drinking him dry.

Raising a hand above Dean’s bobbing head, Sam brings his palm down, hard, giving the Demon a ringing slap. “STOP BITING!”

Dean lets Sam’s abused cock drop from between his come covered lips and grins up at his brother, who’s shaking his head and wincing. “Sorry, I get carried away. You just taste good enough to eat, is all.”

The words are wrong on every level, and yet they send a shiver of appreciation down Sam’s spine, chasing the gooseflesh that’s making him want to grab Dean’s head and fuck his mouth until he spills himself down his brother’s willing throat.

Reaching down, keeping eye contact with Dean, Sam makes a fist around his cock and begins slowly pumping his wrist. “Be a good boy and you can taste me all you like, but bite me again and I’ll chain you to the dungeon wall with a vibrator shoved so far up your ass you can feel it in your fillings, then I’ll slap a cock ring on you and watch you howl and twitch.”

Dean licks his lips, savouring the flavour of Sam’s tangy come, and tilts his head. “You kinky son of a bitch, I don’t swing that way.”

Sam smirks back, leans forward, grips the nape of Dean’s neck and wipes the tip of his dripping cock along his brother’s pouting swollen bottom lip. “Yes, you do.”

Dean pretends piety and keeps his mouth firmly shut, only to grunt and groan loudly when Sam forces his dick between his lips.

“Suck it, now.”

The sound of Dean gagging against the cock being roughly shoved to the back of his throat makes Sam come, hard, harder than he has any right to.

~~~~~~~~~~

“This is a bad idea.”

“I’m fully aware of how fucking stupid I’m being, but he’s going stir crazy and I quite like my head attached to me neck, so unless you have a better idea as to how I’m ‘sposed to occupy my Demon brother when he’s on a rage jag, I’m all ears.”

Castiel watches Dean sweep through the nest of sleeping Vampires with a machete in his hand and a glint in his jet black eyes, and has to admit, if only to himself, that hunting is a damned sight easier with a crazed Demon in the mix. He just hopes one day Dean won’t turn the blade on them.

The sound of Dean whooping and hollering as he beheads Fang after Fang is doing something very strange to Sam’s insides. The glee his brother gets from killing is no longer hampered by a need for sorrow or guilt at the loss of life. Despite the fact that Dean started out very much, “us good, them bad”, he developed a healthy respect for life and didn’t enjoy killing for killing’s sake. He also figured out how to see the shades of grey in the non-humans they encountered.

Watching Dean unencumbered by his morality is a sight to behold. He’s beautiful. A beautiful killing machine with a sick sense of humour and a strength almost unbeatable by simple monsters.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Sam is standing there, his own blade hanging clean and uncoated in guts and gore, thinking exactly the same as Castiel. _Let’s hope he never decides to turn his murderous intent on us._.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Sated from an afternoon of mayhem and oozing innards, Dean now desperately wants to find a bar and drink it dry. He knows he’s going to come up against a solid wall of **No** if he straight up asks, so he decides to be sneaky about it. Nothing says _win_ quite like making Sam think something is **his** idea.

Sitting cross legged in the center of the nest, surrounded by still twitching pieces of Vampire, Dean lays his blade across his knees and hums quietly, and waits for Sam to throw on a set of warded cuffs.

Sure enough, Sam walks forward, grimacing at the remnants of Vampire insides now adhering themselves to his boots, and leans down, jangling the cuffs in his left hand.

“Come on, arms up.”

What Crowley never told them, and what Dean will never give his brother the satisfaction of knowing, is that those cuffs fucking sting. Sting like someone dowsing him in holy water.

Raising his arms, balls of his hands touching, Dean quirks an eyebrow and bites back the pained moan as Sam clicks the cuffs around his wrists. “I could murder a beer and a burger.”

Castiel responds from across the room where he’s checking to see that everything in it is dead other than himself and the Winchesters. “You could murder the opening of an envelope, you have a serious instant gratification issue.”

Dean allows Sam to tug him to his feet and chuckles. “Castiel, have you been cheatin’ on us with Douchely, because that right there sounds more _King of Hell_ than **Flaccid Angel**?”

Castiel rolls his eyes but doesn’t answer, choosing to ignore Dean’s loud laughter and out of tune singing.

“Oh, you _have_ been cheatin’ on us! _Castiel and Crowley, sitting in a tree, F.U.C.K.I.N.G._ Does Jimmy’s dick even still have enough juice to rise to the occasion?”

Sam watches Castiel’s ears turn pink and yanks on the length of chain now attached to Dean’s cuffs. “Shut up, moron!”

Dean continues to laugh loudly and in spite of the fact that Castiel looks like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him, Sam can’t help snorting and enjoying the sound of Dean’s voice filled with amusement.

He laughs a lot more now he’s a Demon. Something that would probably have Freud spinning in his grave and dying to mentally dissect the creature, but it’s a small spark of happiness in the cloying smoke that clouds Sam’s days as he tries to understand what makes Dean tick.

“Seriously, Sammy, my mouth thinks my throat’s been cut. Can we go home and crack a few?”

Sam does the mental math and realises they’re actually closer to the road side dive they passed on the way here than they are to the interstate road home. “How about I take you out for a beer, but one sign of trouble and I’ll use the water bottle in the car to spray you with holy oil. Deal?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean chows down on the fattiest, greasiest, most heart stopping looking triple cheeseburger with extra crispy bacon and jalapeno peppers Sam has ever seen, and the younger man thinks he can feel his own arteries clogging just watching Dean destroy the monstrosity.

He’s about to take a polite mouthful of his Caesar Salad when his phone vibrates in his pocket. Pointing a finger at Dean and narrowing his eyes, Sam plucks the phone out and swipes left. “Hang on - Dean, I see black eyes or pools of blood and you’re history, understand?”

“Yes, sir, no sir, three bags full, _sir_.”

“Good boy!”

Sam walks away from the table and puts the phone back to his ear. “Yes Crowley, what can I do for you today? Other than hope you end up in a smoking pile of red ash.”

“Moose, you sure know how to make a man’s toes curl. If you’re quite finished trying to turn me on,” the sound of Sam’s disgusted grunt is music to Crowley’s ears and makes him chuckle as he tries to damp down the excitement in his voice, “I have a solution.”

Sam forces as much irritation into his voice as possible as he replies. “To world peace? To the global economic crisis? **What** do you have a solution to?!”

“Do stop being such a prick, and listen, for once. I have a solution to Dean’s little Demon problem.”

Sam’s eyes go wide and he almost drops the phone from shock. “And _why_ would **you** want to un-demon my brother?”

“Keep up, long’n’tall. When the blood ritual failed I realised I was as much at risk from his need for death and mayhem as the rest of the planet, maybe even more so having sold him back to you. If we can get him humanised again, I can at least stop sleeping with one eye open for a few months.”

Sam’s not stupid enough to think that’s the only reason Crowley’s offering up a solve for Dean’s Demon issue, but he’s also not stupid enough to look a gift douche in the mouth. “Spill it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam sits in the library, spell ingredients spread out around him, and tries not to hope too hard that this will work the way Crowley promised.

He also tries not to focus on the fact that turning Dean back may well end their twisted rough and tumble sessions, or bring back the ability of his brother to feel guilt like a lodestone sitting on his chest.

Sam can’t believe he’s about to do this, but he stands from the couch, walks out of the room and locks the door.

One more time, just one more time, then he’ll do the spell and bring Dean home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean’s got better hearing than anyone gives him credit for and he’s certainly not fucking daft, so when Sam comes crawling into his bed in the middle of the night sporting an erection boy scouts could use to prop their tents up, and rakes his nails down Dean’s back, he lets him.

It’s not like Dean’s labido ever wains, but this isn’t about sex drive or the burning urge to own Sammy. It’s about the fact that he knows as of tomorrow there’s a distinct chance he won’t ever see his brother naked and slicked with sweat, legs pinned to his chest, again.

Who knows what his sissy feelings-having-self will do after the Demon is sent packing?

Dean is more Dean at the moment than anyone realises, even with his Demon riding shotgun, but tomorrow when the side of himself that’s been revelling in their crazy little home making scheme for the last few months is dispelled, he can’t guarantee the high and mighty morals won’t take over running the show.

It’s with that in mind that Dean rolls over and allows Sam to climb onto his cock, and commits every single bead of sweat, every writhing movement, every facial tick, to memory.

There’s less violence in Dean’s movements than usual, and Sam wonders if it’s sleep clouding his usual need to be brutal, or the fact that he senses this might well be the last time.

Either way, Sam bucks his hips and grinds himself onto Dean’s cock and doesn’t question his brother when the nails he digs into Sam’s hips don’t draw blood, and he certainly doesn’t ask why there’s one small tear clinging to the edge of the Demon’s long eyelashes.

 

Fin


End file.
